Cruel Jests of Society
by Theater Raven
Summary: A crossover with Victor Hugo's novel, "The Man Who Laughs". After saving a young man from drowning himself, Erik becomes caught up in the web of politics that threatens to destroy the young man's life and take away from him the only woman he's ever loved.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

He was shocked when he felt himself breathe again. The shock turned into anger—No! No! That was not how it was supposed to be! The last thing he remembered, he had been sinking blissfully down through the water, waiting for death to come, waiting for their reunion . . . and now he found himself lying on the wet sand, staring up into the dark, starless, moonless sky.

Taking another shuddering breath, he glanced over to his side.

A fire was burning on the beach close beside him and by its light, he saw fishing nets, a wooden box to hold what was caught, and other fishing supplies sitting near the fire. The sight of the flames made him sad—flames were light and she had been his light and now she had been extinguished by the swift wind of death . . . And he had thrown himself off the ship they had been traveling on the moment she had left him. What cruel twist of Fate had brought him to the shore? A few more moments under the water and all would have been complete.

"You're lucky I found you when I did, boy," said a voice beside him, just beyond the firelight.

He squinted to see beyond the fire's flames. A figure was sitting beside the fire. He was dressed in all black, a black mask hiding his face.

"You were nearly finished," the man continued.

His voice sounded annoyed, yet soothing at the same time. It was the voice of a man whose prime had passed him some years ago. But all the figure lying on the cold, wet sand felt was anger towards his rescuer.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, his voice sounding weak from the speech impediment he had had all his life and also from the ordeal he had just put himself through.

"I myself have been in that position," the figure answered.

"What are you talking about? How could you have been in the same state of mind I was in? I wanted to die!"

"I know," the figure by the fire answered, "I could see it in your eyes when I pulled you out of the water."

There was a pause. The man by the fire began to roast a fish.

"I'll cook you something to eat, boy—you need to get your strength back."

"Didn't you just hear me? I said I want to die! . . . She's gone, she's gone . . ."

"Dea, you mean?"

The figure lying on the wet sand looked at his rescuer in shock.

"You were talking to her while you were regaining consciousness," the man by the fire explained. "And by what you said, she was your betrothed, was she not?"

"Yes, she was. . ."

"And you planned to join her in death, is that it?"

"Yes. And I would have if it wasn't for you."

"You should be grateful I came along! Even unfortunates like us can find the joy in life—even the _earthworm _finds joy in life."

"I _had_ joy in my life and now she's gone!"

The figure lying on the beach sobbed, but when he turned his head in the direction of the fire, the masked figure saw that he was grinning.

"Great sobbing expressing inconsolable grief can often lead to wild laughter," the figure seated by the fire muttered to himself, but the figure lying on the beach suddenly stopped crying and looked at him.

"No," he said, "It's not that—I have always been like this."

"Ah, a fellow misshapen creature! Well, you're in good company, then," the figure seated by the fire said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're still too weak—perhaps I will explain later. But tell me, how did the world treat _you_ after you came into it without matching their view of perfection?"

"I did not come into the world this way."

"Then how—?"

"I was kidnapped from my home as a toddler, underwent surgery which left me with this grin, and the Gypsy surgeons that performed the operation abandoned me when I was ten. While wandering around, I found an infant blind girl—Dea—and we traveled together until we found a traveling showman who was kind-hearted enough to take us in. And we lived out our lives happily performing until I found my father had been a peer of England and I was reinstated to my titles, but I renounced them in favor of the only life I'd ever known—and the only woman I'd ever loved. I found them again tonight . . . I was so happy . . . And then her fragile health caught up with her and . . . you obviously found me and saved me against my will."

The figure lying on the wet sand had to stop now to catch his breath. He was still incredibly weak.

"Why did the Gypsies operate on you?" the figure by the fire asked.

"As I said, my father had been a Peer, but he angered King James II and was exiled. His death—of natural causes—was apparently not enough for the king and so, I was sold to the Gypsies."

The man by the fire stared. It was one thing to be born into the world deformed, but to have someone deliberately mutilate someone—and an innocent child at that!—How traumatic that must have been!

"Don't pity me," the figure on the beach continued, "You obviously are like me, in some sort of physical aspect, so surely you know how annoying shallow pity can be."

There was a long pause. The figure lying on the beach began to crawl toward the fire.

"Hungry after all?" the figure by the fire asked and a nod was the reply.

He handed the young man a roasted fish, which was quickly eaten.

"I'm Gwynplaine," the man with the smiling face said.

"Erik," his rescuer replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Bad weather had prevented the ship from reaching its destination—Holland—and so, it had docked at Gravesend to wait out the storm before continuing on. The wolf on the dock lay with his head on his paws, unable to sleep. He had been the only one to see the smiling man run to the end of the ship after the beautiful woman who could not see had grown limp and unmoving. His master—an elderly man everyone called Ursus—had awakened from a grief-stricken faint over Dea's death to find the wolf standing by the ship's edge, staring mournfully into the water. Ursus, to the wolf's surprise, did not weep.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," the man said to the animal, "The two adored each other—it was only fitting he follow her."

The body of the girl had been wrapped in a white sheet and would be gently lowered into the sea the next morning.

Now, as he lay waiting for that sad hour, the wolf gazed up at the starless sky. He remembered once, as he had sat outside their little green caravan with them, that the blind woman had asked her companion to explain to her what the stars looked like. The wolf had watched as he described the stars to her, of what they looked like—particularly how beautiful they were—but, the wolf noticed, as he was describing their beauty, Gwynplaine had never taken his eyes off her.

The wolf rose to his feet, scratched behind his ear, stretched, and began walking around the ship. He would be grateful when he could get off the ship and feel solid earth beneath his paws again instead of the rocking planks of the deck moving from one side to the other. He stopped and turned his head when he heard a mouse scurrying across the deck in the dark. A tiny rodent wouldn't be much of a meal, but it would at least be something. The wolf crouched down and began to creep after the animal . . .

*

"You can sleep here," Erik said, pointing to a spot by the fire, which had now died down to glowing embers.

Gwynplaine stretched out on the cold sand. It wasn't as uncomfortable as one might think, especially for him—for most of his life, Gwynplaine had slept on the hard wooden planks of the floor of the caravan. Granted, there was a rug on the floor, but still. He wriggled down into the sand, slightly grateful that the fire was nearly out and that the wind blowing in from the sea was cold—maybe he'd freeze to death . . .

"Would she want you to be thinking such thoughts?" Erik asked as he lay down on the other side of the fire.

"No," Gwynplaine muttered begrudgingly.

"Exactly. So get them out of your head."

"It's not that easy. You've said so yourself—you once had the same thoughts, so you know what it should be like to try and get them to leave you alone."

"You know, for a clown, you're pretty melancholy, my friend."

Erik jumped as a handful of sand playfully hit him from out of the dark.

"If I could give up clowning, I'd do it in a heartbeat," Gwynplaine answered, lowering his hand after throwing the sand.

"Oh, really? And how would you earn your living?"

There was no reply from the other side of the fire.

"Ha, I knew it," Erik said, smirking behind the mask.

Gwynplaine rolled his eyes in disgust and rolled over so his back was to the fire—and Erik.

*

The little bugger had to be around here somewhere!

The wolf had his head down, sniffing amongst the garbage barrels of the ship. The rat was nowhere near there, so he decided to look elsewhere, somewhere he knew he shouldn't look, but he knew that rats would be drawn to it. After all, the deceased provided food for the living. He made his way to where Dea's body had carefully been placed.

He sniffed towards her, slightly afraid, afraid that she could no longer move or speak or do all the other things living things did. It was surreal, the wolf thought, that, only a few hours ago, she had been scratching him behind the ears and playing with him and now she was gone. He heard the squeak of a rat and he turned his head in that direction. The rat, he could now see, was sitting on her foot, nibbling at the cloth that covered it, and the wolf leapt forward, teeth bared—no one was going to eat Dea if he could help it!

The rat, at seeing his adversary, squealed and leapt away into the shadows. The wolf ventured up to her foot, sniffing it. The rat's nibbling had not penetrated the cloth yet—that was good. The wolf turned to leave and thought he heard the scurrying of another rat, but when he turned to look, he distinctly saw the foot move. He bound forward, towards her head, carefully taking the cloth in his teeth and pulling it down so that her face was exposed.

Her face was so still and calm in the moonlight. The wolf gazed at it sadly—such beauty gone to waste! He leaned over and affectionately licked the girl on her nose. He saw her lips part, barely, to draw breath. The wolf stepped back, staring at her, perhaps thinking what he had seen had been a trick of the light.

But then, her eyes opened.

*

Dawn had nearly broken. Ursus could not sleep. He sat on his bunk, staring wistfully down at the old gray weathered planks of the ship. The ship was still docked at Gravesend and would move out of port as soon as there was enough light to see by. He glanced up when he heard the wolf scratching at the door.

Ursus went to open it. He found the wolf staring up at him, a look of anxiousness on his face, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

"Well, where have _you_ been all night, you long-haired ruffian?" Ursus asked. "Hungry for a meal, are you? Well, you shan't get one from me, after worrying me so like that. First Dea, then Gwynplaine, and then you go off disappearing on me!"

The wolf darted toward Ursus, then moved back a few paces. He kept this up and Ursus was sure the poor animal had gone mad over the sorrowful events that had taken place within the last several hours but suddenly, he heard footsteps on the creaking planks. He glanced up, thinking perhaps it was the captain or a cabin boy, but his heart nearly stopped when he saw a young woman standing before him. Her face was pale, except for a few dark circles beneath her eyes, the rest of her body appeared so withered away that Ursus was surprised she didn't just vanish into thin air altogether. Her eyes looked exhausted.

"Ursus?" she called, barely audibly, stretching her hands towards him, in doing so dropping the white sheet she held. "For a few hours, I was dead, but then I woke to find the wolf licking my face. The powers that be must have been kind enough to let me come back and I'm glad they did. I could not leave my Gwynplaine. Where is he?"

And for the first time in his life, Ursus was completely speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The room was dank and dark, but that was how he liked it. He enjoyed working by the light of the tiniest candle, light in which one could barely see, even during midday. He always kept the windows closed. The wooden walls around him were overcast with black wrought iron designs in some places, and the large, thick wooden door that led into the room warned anyone passing by hoping to enter that they had better knock first. He sat now, bent over a scroll of paper, a scroll that smelled heavily of the sea, for it was his job to examine all mysterious notes and letters and such things that came ashore in bottles from the sea.

That was how he had discovered Fermain, the long-lost son of Lord Clancharlie. That was how he had found that the supposedly-dead heir was alive. That was how he had nearly achieved his greatest triumph: Forcing the haughty duchess, Josiana—a woman he secretly coveted who then owned the Clancharlie estate—to marry the newly-discovered heir if she wished to remain possessor of the estates she enjoyed. But the heir had made a terrible scene in the House of Lords when he was inducted and, either in fear or sheer foolishness, he had fled the great hall and had never been seen since. The man at the desk grumbled to himself—he was not sad for the heir; as far as he was concerned, Fermain could do as he pleased, but he was even more hurt that his plans to humiliate Josiana had backfired on him.

Barkilphedro set his paper down, heaving an irritated sigh, reaching to the side of the desk for a drink, bringing the chilled glass to his withered, thin lips. The elderly servant of the crown was bald, save for the locks of gray hair that clung to the sides of his head. He had a long, crooked nose that seemed to bend over into almost a bill-like shape, like the nose of an old hag from a fairytale, and he was slightly hunchbacked due to all those years of bending over scrolls and papers, some of which had been written centuries before he was born. He set down his drink and picked up his paper again, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called, setting his document down once more.

A servant entered, carrying a bundle of clothes.

"Sir, Fermain is dead."

"What?"

"He is dead," the servant repeated, setting the clothes down on Barkilphedro's desk. "We found these by the river, along with a note."

Barkilphedro snatched up the note. In crude handwriting was written, "I depart. Let my brother David take my place, and may he be happy! _Fermain Clancharlie, peer of England_."

Barkilphedro stared at the note and at the black scarf that lay on top of the rest of the clothing. He tossed the note onto the heap.

"So be it," he said disdainfully.

*

The day dawned gray and cloudy. Erik walked alongside Gwynplaine as the two of them made their way from the beach to the main road. He noticed the young man gazing achingly, longingly, towards the ocean. He knew that thoughts of joining his beloved on the other side were still on his mind.

"Misfortune comes to those who end their journey by way of the coward's road."

Gwynplaine did not answer.

"She was beautiful . . ." he mused to himself.

"So was Christine," Erik said, "But I didn't end my life."

Gwynplaine turned to him.  
"But did it cross your mind?"

"Earlier in my life, it did, but the rejection of a woman was not the reason."

"What was the reason? If you don't mind my asking, I mean."

The masked man turned to look at him. His glittering eyes were curtained behind a film of genuine weariness. He sighed.

"I was _tired._"

And that was all he needed to say in order for Gwynplaine, his fellow outcast, to understand.

"But then," Erik went on, "I found a nice compromise—a place where I was away from this world and yet, I could still remain a part of it."

"And where was that?"

"Beneath the opera house."

*

Ursus sat across the table from Dea as she ate. He had insisted that she have something to eat and had managed to avoid telling her about Gwynplaine. Instead, he had asked her what it had been like to nearly become a heavenly apparition only to be tugged back down to earth. She had told him that, for a moment, she could see, and that there was warm light all around her, but she was sad because Gwynplaine was not there. And then, she remembered feeling the wolf's tongue licking her face and that was it. When she had finished her story, after drinking from the glass of juice Ursus had given her, she spoke again.

"But you still have not told me where Gwynplaine is. Where is he, Ursus? I want to know."

Ursus lowered his head.

"If I tell you, you must not leave me again—you might not come back this time. Are you sure you feel strong enough to hear . . . bad news"

She nodded.

"He was so grief-stricken over your death that he drowned himself in the sea."

For a moment, Dea's face was calm as she seemed to be processing what Ursus told her. Then, her expression grew angry.

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"I couldn't! Your death left me so shaken I fainted. By the time I came to, he was already gone."

She slowly rose to her feet and made her way to the mattress on which she had been lying when she died. She lay down on it, stretching out full length, holding her arms out as if she was holding him.

"This was the last place where we were together," she said as tears began to well up in her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Josiana perked up when she heard the news, sitting up from where she had been lying on the couch and sitting on her knees, drawing her legs underneath her,

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Your Grace. He received the unfortunate news this morning."

Josiana went back to lying on the couch, her gorgeous face washed over with boredom.

"And where does that leave me?"

"With all due respect, Your Grace, the man you were supposed to marry just died. Wouldn't you—?"

"It was to be a marriage of politics. I did not love him. Quite frankly, I'm glad he's gone. His brother has inherited the estates now—I must marry David if I wish to keep them. That is good news. He is much more handsome than his late relative."

#

She had been standing by the ship's railing for over an hour, her blind gaze staring blankly out at the crashing waves. Ursus came up behind her, gently resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Dea, lunch is going to be served soon."

"I'm not very hungry."

"You need your strength. Besides, it's against the rules of the ship to waste perfectly good food. Your meal has already been rationed out for you—the captain says everyone has to eat."

"Ursus, I'm not hungry."

Ursus turned to go.

"I'll save it for you."

She managed to smile a little despite her sadness, touched at his parental concern for her.

"Thank you, Ursus. I'm sure my hunger will catch up with me sooner or later."

He slowly walked away. When she knew she was alone, Dea folded her arms, resting them on the railing and putting her head on top of them. For a long time, she stood there like that, motionless, her eyes closed, listening to the thunder of the waves against the side of the ship. She raised her head when she heard the wolf beside her and she rested a hand on top of his head.

"He's out there somewhere," she said to him as she continued to listen to the waves.

The ship had moved away from Gravesend about an hour ago. Wherever he lay now in his watery grave did not matter—the ship had pulled away from it.

"Gwynplaine," she called out to the ocean, her normally-delicate voice now a grief-stricken roar that overpowered the waves, "Where are you?"

#

"Come, now, don't dawdle," Erik said because Gwynplaine, for some reason, had suddenly turned back to look at the sea.

The misfortunate clown turned back to look at his acquaintance, who was already standing on the main road. Trudging across the last bit of sand, Gwynplaine joined him on the otherwise-empty dirt path. The two men looked in either direction, but there was nothing; they may as well have been the only two left in the world.

"What do we do now?" Gwynplaine asked.

After looking both ways again, Erik turned and began to walk.

"We walk," he said.

"But we don't know what lies that way."

"It's better than sitting and not moving at all."

"But what if we're supposed to go the other way and we don't know that yet?"

"We'll figure it out soon enough. Now, come on."

Reluctantly, Gwynplaine headed after Erik, glancing at the ocean one last time over his shoulder as he moved down the dirt road.

#

The two men walked along the trail all that day. It was empty, except for the two of them, and the scenery surrounding it—barren, brown fields with only the occasional scrawny, stunted tree—never changed. In the last rays of dusk, they saw the lights of a town far off in the distance, but it was too dark to keep walking, for they had no lantern, so they settled beside the road to make camp on the flat plains. They were wondering what they were going to do for food when Erik heard something scurrying beyond the light of their campfire and went to investigate, his black attire making him vanish in the dark, except for his glowing yellow eyes.

"Supper," he said as he cam back, the slain rabbit over his shoulder.

Gwynplaine looked away as the masked man began to skin the animal and prepare its flesh for cooking. The glint of light off a knife, the blade smeared red—such a sight always made Gwynplaine uneasy. The two men ate in silence for a moment, then, once the gnawing edge had been taken off their hunger, they talked. Now Erik, who was the more adventurous and bolder of the pair, was unsettled about their traveling the next day.

"I do not want to go into town," he said.

"Why not?" Gwynplaine asked, surprised. "A town means shelter and shelter means food and food means—"

"People," Erik cut in, "And Erik does not like people."

"You don't like people?" Gwynplaine said, staring at him. "How could anyone not like people?"

Erik looked at him incredulously, then, his eyes narrowed.

"You profit off them—it's a wonder you like them."

"You gained wealth from them, too!" Gwynplaine said, for Erik had told him of his work as a showman.

"That's different," Erik said. "I honestly envy you and your profession. _You_ got to make the people laugh, you went to bed happy after a night's show, you could _sleep_ at night with a joyous heart. Me? I had to earn my means by other ways; I did things . . . I should not have done. Oh, yes, the people laughed, but it was because of what I did to their fellow men—I tortured them, I had to kill them . . . I had no choice—the Persian Shah made me! It was either kill or be killed . . ."

Gwynplaine nodded, although he could not even begin to understand or imagine the horrors his comrade seated across the fire from him must have gone through. Now, all the jeers that had been thrown at him during the comedic plays he had been a part of did not seem so bad. There was a pause, and then, Erik said,

"I am too tired to debate this now. We shall discuss whether or not to go into the town tomorrow at breakfast."

And they lay down to sleep. As sleep began to overcome them, their fire began to flicker unsteadily, for a cold wind had started to blow across the plains, chilling the two men, shifting sand around and making moaning sounds in the bleak, empty night sky.

#

_Snow was falling. The little boy was cold and hungry. He could no longer feel his hands or feet, as he had no boots or gloves and how long he had been walking, he did not know. The wind howled in his ears like a whole pack of distant invisible wolves who were hunting. He saw a woman sitting under a tree and went to see if she had anything to eat._

_ The woman was dead, but there was a bundle in her arms. At first, the boy thought it might be food, but then, he heard a child cry and he knew it was a baby. The baby wriggled, moving from side to side until she had rolled out of the still arms of her mother and onto the snow. As the boy took a few steps near the bundle, the blankets the baby was wrapped in suddenly lost their shape and fell limply against the cold ground, as if there had never been an infant in them at all. Then, the blankets shifted as something beneath them moved; it was much too big to be an infant._

_ The figure beneath the blankets stood up and it was revealed to be a beautiful woman, dressed in white that was of a purer shade than the snow. She looked similar to the woman who had frozen to death trying to care for her infant. The boy, too, had changed, suddenly grown into a man, and no more were they in the frozen snow, but in the warm safety of a little green caravan, knowing nothing but each other, loving only each other. . ._

#

Erik awoke when he heard what he thought sounded like a sob. He opened his eyes and sat up halfway, propping himself up on his elbow. The fire was nearly dead and he quickly put some more logs on it. By the light of the refueled fire, he could see Gwynplaine, sleeping. The young man, Erik could see, was reaching out his hands gently as if someone was next to him, and what little bit of lips he had left puckered in a kiss.

"I love you. I love you, Dea," he murmured over and over again.

Erik shook his head and lay down and went back to sleep.


End file.
